FrostIron Headcanons
by TartanFly
Summary: Headcanon scenarios as accepted by the FrostIron community on Tumblr. Originally posted by frost-iron-headcanons. These will NOT be in numerical order. Rated M to be safe, because I cannot control my dirty mind.
1. 46

**FrostIron HeadCanon #46: Tony once met Loki's mother when she came to try to persuade Loki to continue eating the golden apple. Tony hadn't even known he'd stopped eating it.**

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Loki looked up as he felt the disturbance of the opening of the Bifröst. Usually it was Thor, coming to check on his brother and make sure that his romantic relationship with his teammate was not going to combust in a traumatic argument that would probably leave half of Malibu as dust and debris. But this time it was different, it _felt_ different. And so, he stepped out in the heavy humid air and came face to face with his own mother. He had not seen Frigga since his and Thor's battle in his father's sleeping chamber. Even now she looked at him differently, keeping her distance as if she feared he would hurt her. He suddenly wished he hadn't been so curious.

"My son," she said in what sounded like a relieved sigh. "You are alive."

"Indeed." he replied, expertly covering up the longing to hold his mother and apologize for every wrong he'd done to her. Her curls were neat, piled into a nest on the top of her head and falling well past her shoulders. She looked every bit the Queen as he remembered her, and yet she seemed haggard and tired; one arm was completely sheathed by her white robes. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise?"

"Who're you talking to?"

Loki cursed his luck as Tony appeared from the door he'd oh-so-inconveniently left open. Frigga's eyes went over Loki's head to look at Tony, sizing him up. She looked startled to see the human was supposedly sharing his bed with. When her eyes froze, widening in confusion—and was that fear he saw?—Loki knew she was staring at the glowing reactor embedded in the man's chest, visible even through the navy blue T-shirt he'd thrown on. Realizing he'd been holding his breath, Loki let it out in a slow, heavy huff through his nose.

"Tony," he said, wrapping his hand almost possessively around the human's elbow. "I would like to formally introduce you to Frigga, my mother."

Tony gave him a look that blatantly and sarcastically said "thank you for the warning" before nodding to her. Frigga said nothing, bowing her head in acknowledgement.

"I came to speak to you." Frigga said, and uncovered her arm. In her hand was an all too familiar golden apple, about the size of a grapefruit. The moon reflected off its surface in a silvery sheen across its skin.

"What's that?" Tony asked, and Loki could almost hear the gears turning in his head. He bit the inside of his cheeks to keep the smile from surfacing on his face.

"Thor told me you had not been eating them." Frigga stepped closer, and Loki's grip on Tony's arm tightened. The movement didn't go unnoticed by anyone. Just two feet away, Frigga stopped. She looked to Tony. "You do not know what these are to us?"

"Silence." Loki hissed. "It is none of his concern."

Frigga frowned at him. "Surely he has a right to know why you would kill yourself."

Loki closed his eyes, cursing as he felt Tony tense next to him. Suddenly he wrenched his arm away. Loki's eyes opened as Tony grabbed his shoulders. He looked pissed.

"What is she talking about?" he demanded. Loki saw a muscle in his face twitch, his frown curling into a scowl. Suddenly Frigga was no longer there on his radar. That he was even going to have this conversation with Tony was asinine.

"I am not killing myself, Anthony." he said calmly despite the bubbling rage in his chest.

"Then why is it so important that you eat that…whatever it is? Why have you even stopped eating it?" Suddenly a look of horror crossed his face, and he turned to look at Frigga. "Has he been poisoned?" His sudden question brought a look of terror to his mother's face, and she looked at him.

"Do not exaggerate. I have not been poisoned." he said. "And I will not eat the apple. You may as well return it to Iduna's box, or it will sit here and rot like the others that Thor has brought me." He turned to go back into the house, but Tony grabbed the collar of his shirt, almost choking him as he was suddenly jerked backwards.

"Wait a minute." Tony said harshly, his back to Loki. "Why does he need to eat that apple?"

Frigga looked to Tony, both hands wrapped around the fruit delicately. They were shaking. "We eat these apples to keep ourselves young and powerful." she explained slowly. "Without them we grow weaker, we age, and we die."

Loki knew Tony wasn't a fool, and it did not take him but a few mere seconds to put the puzzle pieces together. He released his chokehold on Loki's collar. The God didn't have the courage to face him. "Are you doing this because of me?" he asked quietly. "You're going to give up your immortality, your incredible powers, because of me?"

Loki sighed, and nodded slowly. "Would you not do the same?" he asked.

Tony was silent as Loki retreated back into the house. When the human dared to look at her, Frigga was staring down at the apple in her hands. Tears streamed down her face.

"I do not want to lose him." she said, and set the apple onto the ground. "I will leave this here. It will shrivel at the touch of a human." she added when she saw the resolve in his eyes. "If you would convince him—just a small bite. Not even half of it. It would lighten my heart."

Tony could not find a proper response to her, so he nodded. The Queen smiled and dried her face.

"You are a good man, Anthony Stark." she said, and looked to the skies. The usual rainbow tornado Tony always looked out for began to form, displacing the air around them. Tony watched Frigga leave, and then went back inside. Loki was scanning the bookshelf, his arms crossed and his shoulders hunched. By his body language Tony could read that he didn't want to talk about the golden fruit just sitting on the driveway. But that sucked for him, because Tony wanted answers and he was _not_ going to be ignored.

"You're letting yourself die?" Tony demanded. Loki stiffened, but did not turn to face him.

"You don't seem to mind."

"News flash, Dumbo: I don't have a choice. But if I did, believe you me when I say I wouldn't jump at the chance. If your mother hadn't told me human hands cause the fruit to rot, I would have already tried it."

Loki glared at him over his shoulder. "Why does it bother you?" he demanded, spinning on his heel to face him. "I've lived so long, and yet you're the first person I've truly loved, enough so that when you perish I do not want to live a moment longer in this world. Most would be flattered I've chosen that path."

Tony pressed his lips together. He _was_ flattered; not many people would even be able to make such a sacrifice for him, and fewer willing. But it felt too much like suicide. No matter at what angle Tony sharp mind approached the matter, it always told him Loki was allowing himself to die.

"Just eat a small piece." Tony said. Loki's brows furrowed further. "Your family is worried about you. Just a bit, to appease them. I won't ask you for anything more on the matter after that."

Loki sighed, shaking his head slowly. His refusal was final.

The lovers slept in separate rooms that night, and neither was comfortable with so much space left next to them. Tony spent most of the night running their final conversation through his head, his mind offering words that may have helped to change the outcome of the scenario, but they came just a few hours too late. He'd have to apologize, he decided with chagrin, as the sun began to stab at his sleep-deprived eyes. He went groggily went through his usual afternoon routine rather early, planning to retreat down to his workshop and avoid any chance of awkwardly running into Loki while they were still mad at each other.

So it came as a complete surprise when he smelled coffee as he stepped into the kitchen. The pot was still hot, halfway filled and still running. Strong enough to resemble tar as it dripped, just the way he liked it. And on the counter next to it was the golden apple. The flesh beneath the shimmering aurous skin was white, a piece cut out of the side no bigger than a cup coaster. A butcher knife lay on the granite counter next to it, transparent juice drying on the blade. Tony laughed to himself as the coffee maker beeped, signaling that the beverage was ready to drink. He poured himself a generous cup, drinking the bitter liquid black and scorching the surface of his tongue and mouth.

And then, out of curiosity, he reached out to touch the apple.

The white flesh turned beige, then brown, then black, drying up with a dull hissing sound. The skin turned white, flaking off like old paint. The apple continued to rapidly decay until it was nothing more than a pile of ash on the counter.

"Pity." Loki said, leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. "I was seriously contemplating eating all of it." A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Well, what's done is done."

Tony smirked over the rim of his coffee mug. "You can always get more, right?"

"Of course." Loki licked his bottom lip, satisfied with the way Tony's eyes followed the movement. "But I have had enough. For now."


	2. 42

**FrostIron Headcanon #42: During one particularly heated argument between the two, Loki threatened to leave Tony. In response, Tony ripped his Arc Reactor out of his chest and slammed it onto the table. "If you're going to leave then take this with you, because I don't want to live without you!" Loki, astonished, didn't make a move until Tony was already pale and slipping into cardiac arrest. He dove for the reactor and fumbled a bit, desperately trying to put it back. He'd never been so scared in his life.**

**A/N: I was so shocked at how much everyone loved my first fic, and I want to thank everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed! 3 I love you all. This little interruption here is just to let you know that I am, in fact, taking requests on which ones you'd like to see written as a fic! I have only a couple lined up next, and I need more! Send them in a PM, or better yet, send me an ask on Tumblr! I wanna follow you all!**

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Tony ducked as the glass went flying over his head with enough force behind it to pass over his head with a shrill whistle. It shattered against the wall, glass raining down onto the floor. The perfectly aged scotch that had once been in that cup dripped down the wall, staining the white paint. He climbed back to his feet, turning to look at the damage done to his house. Aside from the stain there was also a broken window, and his brand new grand piano had been split in half, dangerous-looking splinters of wood and ivory littering the hardwood floor.

"_Son_ of a _bitch_!" he snapped, and turned to face the angry God standing across the room, his fists clenched tightly. Tony could see his eyes flickering back and forth, scanning the room for anything else to throw at him. "How about you calm your tits for five fucking seconds? Or is there something else potentially expensive you want to destroy? I hear that's what you Asgardians are rather good at." he added, proud of himself to see the way the color seemed to blanch from the God's cheeks, and then come rushing back in a rage-fueled flush.

Loki growled, a low guttural sound from deep in his chest. His lip curled back over his teeth and his eyes gleamed alarmingly. "Oh, and you didn't do the same?" he jabbed, gesticulating wildly as he spoke. "You, who rightfully earned your name 'The Merchant of Death?' Tell me, Stark, how many did you indirectly kill by the use of your weapons? Or, better yet, how many innocent lives were lost because of the terrorists that obtained them?" He grinned in that devilishly attractive and distracting way as Tony fought his rage. He raised his eyes to the wrinkle between Loki's narrowed brows, trying to find a comeback good enough to shut him up. But Loki wasn't done, not yet.

"I'm tired of playing this game with you, Stark." Loki held his hand out, and within his fingers materialized his glowing blue scepter. "This act has gone on long enough; living here has been fun, and the sex was good. But I've grown tired of you."

"Tired of—?" Tony gasped, truly shocked by the man's words. For a long moment he actually believed him. But there was that flicker, that slight twitch of the facial muscles just beside his nose. It was one of many signs that Tony had learned meant the man was lying. It was his job, sure, and he was good at it. But he wasn't perfect. "Oh sure!" Tony snapped, unconsciously backing away as he did so. "Go ahead! Lie to me, just as you lie to yourself!"

Loki hissed a warning, green and gold magic flaring at his fingertips. The flame licked at his knuckles, searching for oxygen from his wrapped fingers. "Explain your words." he growled through clenched teeth.

"What? You mean about how you pretend that you're your brother? Don't tell me it's not on purpose." He felt both satisfaction and regret mingling uncomfortably in his stomach at the look of shock that momentarily took hold of Loki's face. "You walk like him, you talk like him, you even mimic his facial expressions! You pretend to be exactly like him because when that enchantment comes off, when you look at your _true_ reflection, you can't bear to look at what you see. You've tried so hard to convince everyone that you're blood-brothers that you've fallen for your own ruse!"

Tony's words hung heavy in the air, rendering Loki speechless for the first time. Tony couldn't help but feel some remorse for voicing his suspicions about the way he behaved around Thor—despite their meager bickering. The two men glared at each other, the silence growing almost unbearable when Loki made the first move, making his way toward the door to the balcony. His back was turned to Tony, his head lowered and shoulders hunched.

"Perhaps," he spoke calmly. "I should return to Asgard—_as did my brother_—and stay there."

It was Tony's turn to have no response to the words, his mouth opening and closing like a broken hinge. Loki turned to look at him, his expression showing that he was bothered by the silence. When their eyes locked Tony grabbed the edge of his T-shirt and pulled it to his chin, the deep blue glow of the arc reactor shining brightly and reflecting against the small pieces of metal on Loki's armor. He unlocked it and removed it from his chest with a hard jerk. Loki's eyes widened slowly. There was a painful jolt in his chest as his heart stopped beating, the tingling pain traveling slowly down his left arm as he slammed the expensive piece of technology onto the granite tabletop. He thought he saw a something spark dangerously, but ignored it.

"If you're going to leave then take this with you," he said with great difficulty. "Because I don't want to live without you!"

Something akin to relief flooded Loki's eyes, though his expression remained cold. The words seemed to echo back to him over and over again, despite the silence. The two men stood, almost as if they were waiting for something. Loki didn't move until Tony's face was completely white and his eyes rolled back into his skull; he collapsed to the hardwood floor with a dull _thud_. Loki dropped his scepter and ran to his side, scooping the man into his arms. His skin was lukewarm to the touch, and he couldn't find a discernable pulse in the man's neck or wrist.

He spotted the glowing reactor from his peripheral and lunged for it, almost dropping the limp man in his lap. He fumbled, his shaky fingers dropping it to the floor the first time, scrambling to get the piece of technology back into its socket in the man's chest and lock it in. His fingers managed to get in the way more than once, and by the time it was back in place and the color was slowly returning to Tony's face, he had several bruising spots on his fingers from being pinched several times, over and over. Loki wanted to cry and scream and his heart was slowly climbing back down from his throat. He blinked away the fear-induced tears and kept his eyes on his face as Tony finally regained consciousness. His eyes were glassy, almost as if he were drunk or half asleep. He blinked slowly, and then raised his eyes to Loki's. The anger was gone, leaving only excess adrenaline and relief.

And Tony had the nerve after all of that to grin and laugh. "Well, I guess that settles it."


	3. 2&116

**This chapter is a combined fic—**

**FrostIron Headcanon #2: Loki is a lusty drunk. **

**FrostIron Headcanon #116: Loki has a tendency to bite. Tony has a tendency to let him.**

**(SMUT CHAPTER)**

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Thor was the first one to slip out of the room quietly, a glass bottle tucked away in his unbuttoned flannel shirt. Tony followed after, muttering some gibberish that no one was really paying attention to. Everyone he walked past held their cards to their chests, watching him like hungry wolves slowly stalking a rabbit. He wanted to laugh at them; winning the night's poker game was not his goal. Not today.

He met the Thunderer out in the hallway. Thor was shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable as he held the recycled wine bottle out to the human. It was filled with a buttercup-colored liquid akin to the shade of champagne but darker. Tony took the bottle and transported it to his bar, inconspicuously hiding it from Loki.

"And you're sure he'll get drunk off of this?" he asked for the eighth time since the concoction of this dastardly plan. Thor nodded, wringing his large hands together. Tony could only pray that the man's guilt and nervousness wouldn't ruin his fun plans for the evening. Thor nodded slowly.

"Loki could never quite hold his alcohol on Asgard." he said. "Your brews here are meek enough for him to handle, but just a couple glasses of that…" Thor trailed off, giving Tony a look. "I will not pretend to be ignorant of your intentions, Stark, but do not let any harm come to my brother because of this. He is quite clumsy and rather uninhibited when intoxicated."

"I'm insulted you think I would hurt him," Tony gasped, clutching a hand over his arc reactor and even stumbling back a little for dramatic effect. "C'mon big guy, have a little more faith in me than that.

The two returned to the table, where Clint was trying to make Loki admit to cheating as the God reached out a hand and pulled the pile of crumpled green bills towards him. Even though the paper had no real value to him and he'd more than likely leave it lying out on the table to be stolen back (again), he looked pleased as punch with himself and his winnings. It was almost childish the way he was grinning. Thor took his seat next to Natasha, who raised an eyebrow at the two's simultaneous entrance but said nothing about it.

"You're the fucking God of Lies and Trickery and whatnot. You _must_ be cheating!" the archer continued, pointing a finger at Loki. The man sat back, a sassy expression spreading across his face. "I mean, this is the eighteenth time in a row you've won!"

"I simply know my cards," Loki said, grinning impishly all the while. Clint frowned suspiciously at him, pointing two fingers at his narrowed eyes before jabbing them toward Loki. The man's smile widened, dimpling his left cheek.

"I'm watching you," Clint hissed before gathering the cards and beginning to shuffle them. Pepper walked in then, holding her usual tablet full of documents for him to look over and a schedule to shove into his face and ruin his fun evening with the team.

"Tony, you have a lineup of business meetings to attend tomorrow. I know you're not CEO of Stark Industries, but the fact remains that no one understands your technology as well as you do and you _have_ to be there."

"Yeah, okay, whatever. Wanna play?" he asked, gesturing toward the table. Pepper flushed slightly as every pair of eyes turned toward her.

"I, ah, thank you, for the invitation—"

"Come now, don't be rude."

"Tony, I don't even know the rules." she insisted, backing away slowly. Tony knew that look. That was Pepper's please-don't-make-me-socialize-with-_your_-friends face.

"Doesn't matter," he insisted, holding the chair out for her. "Clint'll teach you. C'mon, I need to be drunker than this anyway. Just play."

"I'm not in the mood for this, Tony, please—"

"Go on, sit down." Tony stood from his seat and, despite Pepper's incessant protests, he coaxed her into sitting down, snatching the work materials from her hands and displacing them unceremoniously on the floor, underneath the couch. Clint continued to mix the cards, winking at her from across the table. "Hey, go easy on her. Especially you," he added with a pointed glance at Loki. The God raised a dark brow in feigned innocence, holding both of his hands up, palms facing. Tony retreated back to his bar for more alcohol, pouring himself a generous glass of scotch. He swirled the ice and amber liquid around a bit before retrieving the Asgardian ale and a wineglass and heading back into the room. Loki was turned toward Pepper, sitting out of the round so that he could instruct her on the rules and how well her cards would play out. He was without cards this time, whispering in Pepper's ear behind his hand. He caught Tony's eye and winked as the players finally showed their cards. It took Thor and Natasha to keep Clint from jumping over the table and strangling Loki as Bruce calmly gestured to Pepper to retrieve her money. The poor woman looked frightened and confused, and he kindly pushed over to her.

"Beginner's luck. Right, Barton?" Tony laughed, and Clint glared at him with murder in his eyes. "It may be time to wind this whole evening down, wouldn't you think? How much did you win, Pep?"

Pepper blinked in confusion, and looked at the money as if it was going to bite her. "I don't know." she said. "Um, you can have it back, I really don't want it. I'm not a big gambler."

"Yoink!" Clint snatched the pile and dashed out the door with an evil laugh. Natasha rolled her eyes and followed him, muttering underneath her breath in Russian. Tony was sure he heard Loki's name once or twice in there. Thor looked at his brother, and then at Tony, before taking his leave. Bruce and Pepper struck up a conversation as they exited, the work papers left forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind.

"Drink?" Tony offered. Loki accepted the glass, moving to the leather couch. Tony popped the cork and poured him a generous amount. Loki stared at it suspiciously, sniffing it and then swirling it around. Tony was nervous that he'd get caught, but then Loki tilted the glass to his lips and drained the entire contents. He licked his lips, making swallowing somewhat difficult for Tony, and he almost choked on his scotch. Loki held the glass out toward Tony, and he obediently refilled it. Already his eyes looked somewhat unfocused and glassy. He took smaller sips this time, letting the wine settle in his mouth and tasting it.

"What is this flavor?" he mused. "Apples?"

"I don't know." Tony answered honestly, shrugging. "I thought you might enjoy it, so I bought it."

"How romantic." he laughed, and for a while they sat in silence with their drinks. Loki polished off his second and poured the third glass himself. Tony watched him drink it, his cheeks already reddened. When he opened his eyes they took a second to focus on the cup, his look dazed. He grinned to himself and offered Loki yet another refill, which he graciously accepted. He stared narrowed at the trembling surface of the golden liquid before taking another sip. Tony drained the last of scotch, already beginning to feel a buzz in the back of his head. His mind was focused on the smoky taste left on his tongue, and his carelessness caused him to miss the moment where Loki placed his glass down on the coffee table. But he noticed the way Loki pressed his lips against the pulse that beat lazily in his neck, feeling his hot breath against his skin that raised gooseflesh. He tilted his head back, allowing the God to trail his lips up his neck. When Loki reached his jaw he turned, taking that mouth with his own, teasing him with his teeth and tongue until Loki couldn't be satisfied with just that and moved to straddle Tony. When they parted for breath Loki's eyes were wide with need.

"I know exactly what you've been doing." he whispered into Tony's ear, the warm breath against the thin shell of his ear making him shiver involuntarily. He dropped the shot glass onto the rug and grabbed Loki's hips with both of his hands, trapping him in his lap. Loki put two arms around Tony's neck as he began to worry Tony's earlobe between his teeth, growling low in his ear. Tony responded by lifting his leg to prod at the swelling in Loki's crotch with his knee. At the same time one hand daringly moved underneath the God's tunic. His knuckles brushed against the hot skin of his stomach, relishing in the way Loki's breath hitched.

"Do you?" he asked after a long moment of heavy breathing and trying to use what blood he had left in his brain to think. He ran a hand up the smooth muscle of his stomach to his chest, his callused fingers brushing not too tenderly across the heated, sensitive flesh. Loki groaned, his hands moving into Tony's hair and pulling at the dark curls, almost wrenching his head back painfully. His scalp began to tingle with the pain, which only caused the heat in his belly to shoot down straight to his crotch. His erection strained even harder against his pants.

"Y-yes," The long pauses between their words were confusing him. Tony had almost forgotten what they were even talking about, too busy trying to worm the God's shirt over his head, grateful when the soft cotton slid to the floor. He pressed his lips against that pale skin, suckling until dark red bruises began to form across his chest. Loki ground his hips harder against Tony, tugging at the billionaire's own T-shirt. "You think I do not know the taste of my own world's liquor?" He pulled away from Tony's grasp, only to quickly duck back in and attack the man's throat. Tony dropped one hand to his black jeans, hooking a thumb into the waistband and pulling them down far enough on Loki's left hip to see the sharp curves of his pelvis, dark hair curling atop the tight-fitting clothing. Loki finally got impatient with Tony's clothing, and ripped the shirt down the middle, running his hands up Tony's stomach, his fingers splaying over the arc reactor. Tony could only laugh, tucking away in his mind a quick reminder to purchase another AC/DC shirt as he finally managed to get Loki's pants down to his knees. Loki moaned against Tony's jugular, and then bit him rather viciously as he wrapped a hand around the God's throbbing cock. He rutted his hips into Tony's hand as he slowly began to stroke him, from base to tip, adding pressure as he jerked his hand backwards. Loki leaned back, meeting his eyes with his. He had that glassy look akin to alcohol and lust, eyes almost completely black from his dilated pupils. His breath was hot and heavy, smelling of fermented apples. Deftly one hand slid down his chest, his stomach, to rest at his jeans, where the God began to unbutton and unzip his bindings. His erection helped part the flaps, swelling almost painfully against his black and bright red flame-patterned boxers. He was partially relieved from the removal of pressure. Loki reached down and reached inside of Tony's underwear, jerking him at the same pace as Tony was. Tony growled, feeling Loki's teeth once again sink into the flesh on his shoulder. What felt like blood but could also have been saliva dribbled down his back slowly, making him shiver.

"Shit!" Tony gasped, and took his hand from Loki's cock to reach behind him. Loki, as if reading his mind, braced his knees on either side of him, his hands clutching Tony's hips and nails digging through the thin polyester boxers as Tony slipped one finger inside of him. He knew exactly where and how to rub him to get Loki to completely lose control of his muscles, and did just that. It was like the sweetest honey the way Loki moaned, his mouth pressed to Tony's ear as he indeed lost the ability to hold himself up and collapsed against Tony's body. Tony lifted a foot to prop against the edge of the seat as he inserted another finger, slowly preparing Loki as he let out a keen whine, pressing himself back against Tony's hand. He was hot and wet and tight, and Tony's pulse raced at the thought of pushing into him, relishing in his warmth.

"Gods," he gasped. "I need you. Inside me. Right now." Loki grabbed the remnants of the shirt that clung to Tony's shoulders, pulling him into a kiss hard enough that their teeth bumped together painfully, cutting Tony's gums. Their tongues tangled together, tasting blood, as Tony removed one leg from his jeans and underwear, keeping that one leg propped up and clothed as he slowly pushed himself inside. Loki shivered, and Tony wondered if the God would come apart right there. But this was a God he was currently fucking, and Loki clenched his hot muscles around him, knowing exactly what it did to him. Tony paused, letting himself enjoy the feeling of Loki quivering around him, tightening and relaxing in an unsteady rhythm around him before he began to whine, meaning for Tony to start moving.

Tony grabbed Loki's hips and, with help, slowly pulled out of him, just barely inside, and then quickly sheathing himself once more, spearing that sweet spot that made Loki cry out, his voice echoing gloriously around the room. Tony grunted in time with his thrusts as Loki rolled his hips into his, his gasps of delight escaping from a mouth smiling in pure ecstasy, his tongue poking lightly at his kiss-swollen bottom lip. Just the peek of slick pink muscle urged Tony to kiss him again, their tempo increasing until he could sense Loki was nearing the end of his rope. Tony wrapped his hand around Loki's member once more and began to work a slick, off-beat rhythm from the one his hips were working on. He detached his mouth from Loki's, pressing his lips against the man's ear.

"I want to hear you scream." he growled, and with those words Tony ripped Loki's orgasm from him. He did scream, his back arching beautifully, pink nipples full erect, as he came over Tony's hand and both their chests. Tony finished just a second later, growling against Loki's neck as he spilled himself inside of him. He leaned back, the God easily leaning against the curve in his body. Their bodies were slick with sweat and smelled of dank salt and sex. Tony's foot slipped down onto the floor, and the movement earned a surprised groan from Loki as the changed angle. His arms were wrapped around his waist, his arms tucked into what was left of Tony's shirt.

"Damn," Tony gasped when he could draw in enough air to speak; Loki looked up at him, face flushed. his eyes were large and black, ringed just barely by the bright, deep emerald. "I ought to get you hammered more often."


	4. 73

**FrostIronHeadcanon #73: Loki once offered to magic away the shards threatening Tony's heart, but he refused. It was a hard decision, but the arc reactor and the life-threatening shards are a part of him, and a reminder of what he does and why he now does it. It took a lot of discussion, but Loki eventually understood, but still looks at it with sad eyes that make Tony almost regret not taking him up on his offer.**

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Tony could remember the time he'd finally told Loki why the reactor was in his chest. It was on the night of their one year anniversary. Neither one had bought the other a gift nor made a special dinner. But the sex had been _amazing_, and after an entire night of truly exhausting and satisfying love-making, both men were tangled around each other. Tony had been on the verge of sleep when Loki had voiced his question. His sensed numbed by fatigue, he'd been unable to make out the words.

"What?" he'd asked sleepily, turning his head towards the mumbling God; his eyes remained closed.

"I asked what this was." And he felt a tentative finger tap the powered magnet in his chest. The action hurt a little (the thing was _nailed to his_ _ribs_, mind you), and Tony grunted in surprise, opening one eye. Loki wasn't looking at him, his eyes locked onto the glowing reactor in his chest. The blue light cast odd shadows across the sharp planes of the man's face, making him look older. And after a long moment of hesitation, Tony told him the story, without nixing a single detail. His voice was caught in his constricted throat when he mentioned Obadiah—whose name he hadn't spoken since the man's funeral—but he soldiered on. When he finished, Loki lay quiet; it was hard to make the God of Mischief speechless, but Tony had done it. As the sun fully rose from the horizon, Loki finally closed his eyes and slept. Tony was soon to follow.

Two weeks later Tony was working on repairing an arm from his suit when JARVIS alerted him that Loki was on his way to the workshop. No sooner had the AI finished speaking that Loki teleported into the room. He was smiling and clutching a book that had seen better days about three thousand years ago. The cover was made of faded, dark brown leather, the spine wrinkled and paled from being opened countless times over the centuries. He turned to book around in his hands and wordlessly set it before Tony. The papers were yellowed and onion skin-thin. The calligraphy inside was handwritten, ever so often a new flourish indicating a new writer. The only problem, though, was that the entire page Loki was gesturing to was written in ancient runes that hadn't been used since the Anglo-Saxon times.

"Okay, I give up." he said, dropping his wrench into the toolbox by his feet. He grabbed an already soiled rag and began to clean his hands. "What am I looking at?"

"This is a spell." he said, and stepped around the table to run his finger underneath the lines as if it would help Tony read the strange scrawling any better. "It's a removal spell."

"Why do I care? I mean, no offense, but magic isn't really my, uh, my thing." He shrugged, feeling guilty for his lack of enthusiasm at Loki's steadfastly disappearing happiness. He shook his head and picked the book up.

"Most spells like these are summoning. They drive the object toward you," Loki used one hand to gesture, curling his fingers toward himself and jerking his arm backward. "But this, this one is more of a teleportation spell. It will materialize the desired object right into your hands."

"And what does this have to do with me?" Tony rolled his shoulders, feeling and hearing the joints pop. His fingers were next as Loki continued to stare at him. There was, apparently, an underlying message that he was missing.

"Anthony, I can get the missile pieces out of your chest like _this_." he said, snapping his fingers once.

Tony felt the muscles in his face slacken, voiding it of any emotion. For a long while, he'd made jokes about the shards of metal in his body, had often jabbed about taking the first chance to get them removed. But that had been because there simply wasn't a way to do so. Not then. Tony sighed and lowered his eyes, and Loki knew he wasn't as excited as he was.

"You're not happy." Loki closed the book with delicate care and set it on the table again, leaning against the edge of it. He crossed his ankles, his gaze burning down on Tony's scalp. "I've heard you speak before, always talking about how you'd _love_ to be rid of them."

"I was joking." he said slowly, trying not to get himself or the God worked up too much. "These…_this_," he said, lightly knocking his knuckles against the glowing reactor in his chest. "It stands for so much, Loki."

He dared to look up. Loki wasn't hiding a bit of his agitation, leaning back against the edge of his table and resting his weight on his hands; there was a challenge in his gaze, lips pursed into a scowl and eyes narrowed to vibrant slits. "Like what?" he demanded coldly. Tony winced at the edge in his voice.

"I told you before about Yensin. About how he sacrificed his life for me, to show me what it was I was doing wrong." Tony ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. He didn't want to just pour his baggage all over Loki, but it wasn't easy to summarize his entire reasoning for allowing the shards to stay. He tapped his chest, just to the right of the reactor. "This is like my promise to change. I don't make weapons anymore, not ones that people can just come and take and use. I thought I was protecting people by designing all these bombs and missiles and, in the end, they were used on the very people I was trying to keep safe. The shards, this magnet. They remind me of why I became Iron Man in the first place."

He looked up again, surprised at the new expression that overtook the man's face. He almost looked ashamed of himself for even suggesting the idea. "I apologize," he said after a long moment of silence. "I was not aware of how much you treasured them." Loki turned away and retrieved the thick tome; his shoulders were hunched inward, his head hanging low.

_Shit_.

Tony jumped up and snaked his arms around his lover's waist, feeling the god tense and freeze at his touch. "I'm not ungrateful for your efforts." he said in a low voice, resting his chin on Loki's shoulders. His breath disturbed a few loose strands of hair around his ear. "You have to understand, though. I could never be me without them."

Loki's jaw clenched, and for a while he said nothing. Finally Loki ran a hand over his hair.

"Thor wished to speak with me today." he said absently. "I should see what it is he wants, or he'll never stop pestering me with it."

And just like that, Tony was hugging empty air. He let his arms drop to his sides, swinging back into place forlornly, the memory of the God's body heat still remaining on Tony's skin. Cursing himself to the hallowed halls of Hell, he returned to his work not even half as enthusiastically as before.

Loki didn't return until early the next morning, thinking himself sneaky as he carefully shut the bedroom door behind him and slowly let the latch slide into its socket. Tony felt the bed collapse underneath his weight as Loki scurried underneath the covers, pausing to undress first. The rustling of clothes sliding to the floor was followed by a quiet yet heavy sigh. Loki was just as hung up on the issue as Tony had guessed he would be, and so when the God finally lay himself down on his side, Tony flipped over and pulled him close. Loki jumped—probably assuming he was deep in sleep—but didn't flee like earlier. Probably because he didn't have any pants.

"I'm sorry," Tony said in his ear. "I know your heart was in the right place." Loki didn't respond. "You know I love you." Once again, Tony's painfully heartfelt words were met with silence. "I said, 'I—'"

"I heard you," he groaned, and let out a deep, controlled breath. "Perhaps I was the one at fault. I didn't realize what kind of attachment you had to your…shrapnel. I won't bring it up again."

And like that the issue was dropped. Tony slept with a lighter heart, holding Loki as he drifted away. The next morning he awoke alone, somehow straddling Loki's pillow; the smell of bacon drifted through his cracked door. Normally Tony wouldn't get up until the sun was on the other side of his tower but Loki rarely cooked for him and he was not going to piss him off after defusing last night's bomb. So he forced himself from the comfortable warmth of his bed and trudged into the living room, fisting at his eyes. Loki was eating silently at the bar in his kitchen. He looked up at Tony's muttered, unintelligible "good morning."

It was a small movement, barely perceptible, but Tony saw as his eyes flickered once again to the glowing blue magnet in his chest. His brow creased, his eyes narrowed. The corners of his mouth crinkled inward, just the slightest of movements that Tony would have missed had he not been looking for them in the first place. He could see the desire to bring up the spell again in Loki's eyes, but he said nothing and returned to the food cooling on his plate. Tony knew it was going to take a while to get over this, for the both of them, and a painful twinge of regret pulled at his heart. It was there, the temptation to allow Loki to remove the metal. It would mean never having to worry about the reactor being stolen or something suddenly going deathly wrong with the new element in his chest. It would be a freedom; a heavy, loathsome lifted from his shoulders. But it would change so much: he would not longer be Iron Man-a horrifying thought he disallowed his mind to entertain-, and the hole in his chest would have to remain. The skin and muscle had grown around and adapted to the apparatus and simply removing it would not solve any of the problems that would no doubt arise from it.

This was going to be a high hill to get over, for the both of them. A few pieces of bacon and some eggs was a good start.


	5. 97

**FrostIron Headcanon #97: After Tony's Death, Loki will take the arc reactor from his chest and keep it with him until the day it finally stops working. He won't cry when he sees it's gone out, instead he will pick it up and carry it into battle as he begins Ragnarok. Never letting the dead reactor go until the moment he is slain in battle. **

**Recommended reading music: Coming Home-Skylar Grey (solo)**

* * *

Loki stood in the back of the viewing room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His eyes, bloodshot and swollen, were focused on his black dress shoes. Stark had bought them many years ago, for their wedding for two. The toes were scuffed and the soles were slowly escaping, starting at the heel. They slapped when he walked, and yet he treasured them more than anything, unwilling to allow them to be polished and repaired. And then they turned blurry as Loki's eyes burned, and the tears dripped from his eyes and onto his arms, dissolving into the cotton and polyester blend fabric of his suit.

"Brother," Thor said, touching his shoulder delicately. "The director says you have one final goodbye."

With more ease than he should have been capable of Loki blinked away his tears and looked up at his brother. Thor was crying openly, his olive complexion blotching red across his cheeks, nose, and forehead. His eyes almost matched the deep crimson tie he had around his neck. The viewing area was empty; it had been one of Stark's last wishes that the funeral be between only friends, no press or fanatics. The remaining members of the original Avengers team (now replaced twice over by younger agents) were waiting outside in the gloomy rain, the storm brought on by the Thunderer's own depression. Thor left the room to allow him privacy.

Loki stepped beyond the closed curtains and out of sight of the rather bird-like woman who ran the home, who kept eyeing him suspiciously. He was surrounded by flowers, many sent by employees, by friends, even by some of the agents from S.H.I.E.L.D. The lights were dim, reflecting against the glass of the pictures of Stark. One was a clipping from a newspaper, young teenage Tony posing next to the robot he'd named Dummy. The other was him, older, with several business partners. The last two were with him and Loki. The first their wedding day, Loki barely smiling from his embarrassment as Tony beamed next to him. The last was what that silly woman referred to as their "family portrait," when Fenrir had finally consented to meeting him. He looked vibrant, alive. Nothing like he did now. Loki had been with Stark for almost fifty years, never aging because Tony refused to let him quit eating those Godforsaken apples. His skin had grown wrinkled, sagging off his bones like an ill-fitting robe, and felt long of cool leather. He hadn't lost his hair, but it had turned as white as fresh, untouched snow. Tan liver spots dotted across his thin hands.

Loki had seen death, had experienced it many times over his long life. Usually the corpses looked like the person was asleep. But not this time. Maybe it was because this man was the only person he'd allowed himself to truly love, had come apart and hurt before him without the fear of judgment or rejection. But Anthony Stark just looked dead. His skin was a sick yellowish color, and when Loki reached out to touch his face the skin felt stiff and waxy. Sobs clutched at the back of his throat, swelling it closed and begging for release. He ran his hand through Tony's ashen hair, feeling all to well the bone beneath his scalp. It wasn't right; a human shouldn't feel like this. But it did and Loki hurt because of it. He leaned over the body, pressing a kiss to the dead man's forehead and cheek, pressing his face against his and praying for a miracle, hoping against all hopes that Tony would open his eyes and wipe at his face and laugh at him for worrying that just because he slept late didn't mean he was dead. Loki hadn't seen the glimmering love in those deep russet eyes in four days and it was terrifying. He didn't want to get used to this, to the emptiness in his bed or the silence of unused tools.

"I love you." he whispered to him. His hand absently stroked the cold, stiff skin over his temple. "I love you so much." His voice broke, and Loki pressed his face into his shoulder to quiet his sobs. And, just as Tony had granted him permission too, he unbuttoned enough of the soft cotton shirt to reveal the still glowing reactor. With practiced ease Loki lifted it from his chest, feeling the energy that pulsated inside its mechanical workings. It took him a long while to calm and steel himself enough to leave Tony's side, though his heart felt as if it had been speared through a million times when the lid of his casket was closed. Loki would no longer see his face again. He clutched the reactor to his chest desperately.

Thor put an arm around his brother's shoulder, never releasing him as they were ushered into a dark vehicle and driven to the cemetery. Rain pelted the ground, turning much of the graveyard to a dangerous mudslide. A blue tarp had been pitched over the deep pit that would be Stark's grave, also surrounded by plastic sheets, and beneath that stood a man named Tracey, who had taken over after Fury's death a long time ago. Loki couldn't count the years since attending his burial ceremony. Tracey was young for his position, with strawberry blond hair just beginning to silver. He shook Loki's hand, pity dripping from his every pore as he nodded his greeting to Thor. Behind him Rogers stood staring over his shoulder at the coffin being carried toward the hole. The serum injected into him almost a hundred years ago had slowed his aging; he barely looked forty, still fit and tall and _alive_.

"How are you doing?" Tracey asked him. Loki narrowed his burning eyes.

"I will allow you one guess, though I am most certain you already know how I am 'doing.'"

For once, as Tracey flinched from his tone and looked away, Thor did not chastise his brother for his harsh tone.

Rogers was the one to break the tension, surprising the small congregation by embracing the swarthy haired God. It was an action capable of rendering Loki speechless. As the Captain pulled away, he seemed almost embarrassed he'd done it.

"I'm sorry," is all he said before the casket was brought forth. The entire ceremony was short and silent. There was no preacher, no speech given by anyone. It seemed as if the entire world had been shocked by Tony's request of a small, quiet ceremony, knowing the man's preference for loud dramatics and parades. Loki had been expecting him to ask for a grand feast and singing and dancing, to welcome to the head of the game the newest genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist. The reactor was tucked away in an inner pocket of his long coat, warm and whirring against his ribs. Loki placed a hand on it as the casket was lowered into the ground.

* * *

It was exactly 3760 years later when the arc reactor died. Loki had always known it would happen, yet somehow he couldn't believe it. For what felt like forever he'd relied on the distinct whirring hum of the machinery, on the sharp blue glow being there when he went to sleep at night and trusting it would be there again when he awoke. Watching the light flicker before fading, Loki felt as if he watched the final piece of his heart die.

* * *

The screams of the dying echoed in his ears, making them ring. The sky was dark with black smoke, the smell of blood tainting the air. The earth was shattering, and Midgard would be no more. Loki stood above it all on the ruins of an all too familiar structure. The A was falling off, one of the two remaining letters. The R had been ripped in half, its other side lying in pieces atop a crowd of broken humans. He looked at the world around him, of the shattered buildings, the tiny dots of humans that moved no more, the shimmering red pooling around them. For the Twilight of the Gods, it was glorious and beautiful. And yet Loki did not enjoy it was well as he always dreamed he would. He looked down to the circular object in his hands. Millennia ago it had shut down, yet he'd never let it go. A lump formed in Loki's throat and he shoved it back into his chest, letting the ache settle in his stomach. This would be his victory, and nothing would ruin it. Yet somehow he couldn't resist the urge to look down at the rusted metal in his hands, the uniquely tiny "battery," as it had long ago been described.

"Your days end now, Trickster." The deep voice was no surprise to him. Loki turned to face his foe, smiling like an age-old friend. The man was adorned fully in shimmering gold armor, stained with demon blood. His fiery eyes burned as he glared at the sorcerer.

"Heimdall." he greeted him forlornly. He held out his hand, in which materialized his favorite scepter. The glowing magic sent a coursing energy through his body. "It has been a long while, has it not?"

Heimdall did not speak, instead leaping forward with his sword. Loki was only half-hearted in his battle, parrying blows and shooting bolts of magic towards the giant man. Sparks flew from the kissing blades and rubble exploded from poorly aimed blasts of energy. It was not long until both warriors were spent from their battle. Loki thrust his spear high, piercing through the Gatekeeper's throat. In turn he felt the slick burn of steel thrust into his belly. He opened his mouth, unsure if he should speak, and a thick river of blood dribbled from his mouth. Heimdall fell dead to the concrete, and Loki was soon to follow, lying on his back. He breathed in sharp, wheezing gasps. Slowly he turned his head to his arm, lying outstretched by his side. The reactor was still clutched in his hands. And for the first time in thousands of years, Loki cried as he released his last breath. His fingers loosened their hold on the reactor, and it clattered to the ground beneath him, covered in blood.


	6. 88

**FrostIron Headcanon #88: After being returned to Asgard with Thor, Loki's mouth was sewn shut and Odin threatened his children. Remembering the fate of his son Nari, he immediately escaped and fled to Earth, hurling straight into the ocean to find his youngest son Jormungandr. He washed up, exhausted and injured, in Miami. That's where Tony found him and they began their relationship.**

* * *

Loki was screaming, and he wondered if anyone even cared. Two armored guards were holding him down, one gripping his wrists and the other all but sitting on his knees. The dwarf above him grinned as the needle passed once more through his lips. Loki tasted blood as the corner of his mouth was pulled shut, tight and painful. Each time the curved metal rod dug through his skin felt like ice and fire all at once. He tasted his own blood, choked on it as he begged for mercy. Frigga had fled the room, leaving his brother and his father to stand watching. Odin's eye gleamed with nothing but contempt, and perhaps pity. Thor could not bear to watch, his face turned away and hidden by a long curtain of blond hair. His large hands were squeezed into fists. Loki thought he saw a tear.

It felt like centuries once the deed was done. The enchanted black wire kept his lips clamped shut tighter than a virgin maiden's legs. Blood pooled in his mouth, forcing him to swallow it and leavings the taste of rot on his tongue. Tears blurred his vision, and he hid his face as they fell.

"This is only a small sliver of the pain your children will feel if you defy me again, Loki." Odin said. Unable to threaten the foolish King, Loki could only pin him with as vicious a glare as he could through his mind numbing pain and tears. Thor was staring at his father, cheeks shiny and mouth agape in horror. "Have you forgotten Nari?"

Guilt settled into his gut and weighed heavily in his middle; he wanted to vomit but it had nowhere to go and Loki could only hang his head. As the guards dragged him away he could still hear the dying pleads and cries of his son reverberating in his skull.

First thing Loki had planned was his escape. He had expected to be taken immediately to a cell, where a carefully executed spell would get him out of this supposed sanctuary. But his recent torture had left him feeling drained. And if that wasn't enough to foil his plans, shackles bound his wrists, the metal etched with anti-magic runes. He could feel his powers draining, even the weight of his own life becoming heavy on his exhausted being. He was unceremoniously dumped into the cell and left lying on the floor. He needed sleep, and even his exhaustion was too great for him to move. And so he spent his first night sleeping on the cold floor, dreaming of fire and blood and the dying screams of his own child.

The next morning, his tongue dry with the heady taste of blood and his throat ripped from screams, he had steeled his resolve. And when the guard was stupid enough to open the door wide to attempt to feed him, it took only a well aimed fist to his head to kill him. His escape could not have been any easier. His aim was the salty oceans of Midgard's, where his son lay at the deepest bottom. He had to warn him, to let him and his siblings know the danger they were in. As he hurtled toward Earth, it was all he could think about.

* * *

Tony knew that time passed differently in Asgard, yet somehow it still surprised him that Thor had not returned until almost a year after the events of New York. He had told them that Loki had been punished, and then vanished after killing his guard. They had been warned about the signs of his appearance, that they should call him come Loki's arrival. Yet all of that fled to the back of his mind, screaming but ignored, as said Master of Mischief was trudging from the ocean, soaking wet and his hair falling into his face. He didn't look quite right, paler than usual and weak. Tony approached slowly, knowing the dangerous man could hear him. He looked up, panicked and angry, and Tony nearly lost his two-thirty snack. Glimmering in the moonlight was the black wire that held his lips clamped together. Gooey flakes of dark blood still cling to his chin and neck, some dribbling from his nose. He looked tired.

"Shit." he breathed, his vast vocabulary suddenly vanishing. Loki narrowed his eyes at him but did not move. How was he supposed to respond to this sight without offending him? His fucking mouth, Jesus! "I, uh," he stammered after a long silence of nothing but staring at each other. "I can help you. Remove those, that."

Loki narrowed those bloodshot eyes, but did not fight him as Tony shed the flannel jacket he was wearing and awkwardly draped it around the trembling God's shoulders. It was a long walk back to his house in Miami. Loki seemed drained, leaning against him to stay vertical as they finally reached the elevator, carved into the cliffs.

They only went as far up as his workshop, where Tony deposited him on a low bench, allowing the God to stretch out his go-on-forever-and-a-mile-long legs. He watched him warily as Tony dug around in his tools, telling himself not to turn around, as much as he wanted to stare at Odin's macabre embroidery project. Thor had always said Odin had plans to "keep Loki nothing but truthful," quote unquote, but this was nothing like he'd expected. Magic, maybe even a shock collar. Not this. He felt pity for his enemy, even regret for sending him back to that.

"I'm looking, hold on." he said over his boulder when Loki let out a heavy breath. Too heavy, actually. Almost forceful. He turned and saw, in fact, that Loki looked a little blue in the face. _Shit, he can't breathe!_ Tony snatched up the pair of wire cutters and pliers the second he cut his finger on them and dashed back to Loki's side. He was beginning to convulse.

"Stay with me, damn it!" Tony didn't want to imagine what Thor would do to him if Loki died here. He grabbed the man's face and held him as still as he could, trying to pry the sharp blades between the wires and his skin. He first time he missed, tugging the cables and drawing fresh blood. The second time he snapped two of them easy. Loki's mouth began to open, and he drew in heaving breaths—almost ripping his face apart as he fought for air—as Tony finished and cut the wiring. He turned to set the cutters on the floor, but before he could get to him with the pliers Loki was ripping the cut strands from him lips, grunting in pain. He looked angry and embarrassed and utterly defeated. Tony Stark was not one for pity, but he felt it now.

"I, uh, I'll get you a washrag." he muttered, turning to find a clean cloth in his collection. He was expecting to turn around and find Loki gone, proofed away to never be found again. He was not prepared for the God to not only remain on the bench, but to also be looking at him expectantly. The chains of his constraints rattled. He paused to grab another tool, an instrument of his own mind, designed to cut smashed pieces of his suit from his body when they couldn't be removed by the usual method. Loki watched him carefully as he slung the rag over his shoulder and snatched the bottle of scotch perched precariously on the edge of his worktable, the rest of the surface taken up by tools, metal, and wiring that sparked occasionally. "Just be still. It burns if you move." he said, and after waiting for an argument and surprisingly finding the God chose to remain silent, he began to work at the metal. It took longer, much longer than the gold titanium alloy for his suit, but eventually they fell away to the floor with heavy clunks. Tony picked one up and inspected it carefully. It was at least an inch thick, the surface shimmering almost as if it had been glazed with diamonds.

"Water," Loki finally said. Tony jumped, startled that he'd broken his silence. His voice was thick, like his tongue had dried and swollen behind his lips.

"We need to clean your wounds first." he said. Loki narrowed his eyes at the golden liquid as Tony unscrewed the cap and tilted the bottle over onto the rag. The terry cloth soaked up the alcohol, and carefully Tony pressed it to the God's mouth. He sucked in a breath, hissing from the pain, but he allowed Tony to use the scotch to clean his face.

"Did you not have something better at hand?" he asked, averting his eyes from the nearly totally red cloth. "This liquid smells awful."

"Sorry. I thought you were going to choke again." he lied, not wanting to admit he didn't trust leaving the man alone in the same room as his suits. As if reading his thoughts, Loki's eyes flickered over to the collection, the Marks I through VII standing proudly underneath their spotlights.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the lineup. Tony stood, shoving the rag in his back pocket. After a moment of genuine though, the best answer he could give him was a shrug of his shoulders.

"I, uh. I have to call Thor."

"No!" Loki looked up, almost as white as the wall behind him. He jumped up, the sudden movement seeming too much for him as his eyes unfocused and he leaned heavily to one side. Tony never ran as fast as he did when he moved to catch the man, holding him up. Loki surprised him by clinging onto him, shaking hands fisting the back of Tony's cotton T-shirt. "They'll kill them. They've already taken one child from me," he whispered, voice thick with sobs. Tony saw the droplets fall from his eyes. "I can't give them another. If I go back…"

Tony swallowed, hard. He'd always heard from men and women who'd lost their own children that it was a pain no one should ever have to feel, that it was natural for a mother and father to die before their offspring. He couldn't even imagine what Loki was feeling. And so he wrapped his arms around the man, awkwardly rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"Yeah, okay." he said. "I won't send you back." Tony held him, wondering what it was he was promising himself into. "We'll figure this out. I don't know how, but I'll think of something."


	7. 209

**FrostIron HeadCanon #209: Sometimes Tony and Loki just hold each other tightly while they lay down at bed at night. They both have their demons and their nightmares to fight and because they dislike talking about what keeps them up, the fact that there is comfort to be found in each other's arms with no words necessary is one of the many things they're thankful for, but would never admit to the other.**

**A/N: This drabble is short, almost painfully so, but I must admit I was rushed to get something out before November (and being sick on Halloween, what better time to publish another fic?). I'm participating in NaNoWriMo this year, so until 1 December, I will be focusing only on my own original fiction. To fyeahavengersandloki, I'm sorry I couldn't get your request out on time, I promise that it'll be the first thing I work on when NaNoWriMo ends.**

* * *

_He felt the knife dig into his flesh, carving the space for the magnet just above his heart. Almost breaking his ribs with the bolts. He tasted copper and salt, screaming in pain, praying to no one to save him, please let him live. He hurt, _God _he hurt. The unrelenting burning, and he just wanted it all to go away—  
_  
Tony awoke with a start, gasping for breath as he shot into a sitting position. For just a moment he thought he was back in that Godforsaken cave, forced to build his own weapons with scraps by the light of a weak fire and with only a week to live, carrying a salvaged car battery tucked underneath his arm. But then his mind registered the soft, silken sheets wrapped and tangled around his legs. A digital clock sat on his bedside table, broadcasting the time to close to seven in the morning; he remembered that hours before he'd asked JARVIS to tint the windows so he could sleep late.

And lying next to him, one hand wrapped gently around his wrist, was Loki. He didn't need the bright blue glow of his reactor to know he was staring at him in question, knowing from firsthand experience that asking Tony if he could help was a mistake. He also knew that Loki wasn't going to speak, wasn't going to ask him for a reason for his violent thrashing. Tony unwrapped the blankets from his legs and lay back down by Loki.

He didn't fight as he pulled him into a gentle embrace, tucking his head into his neck and being completely enfolded into the man's arms. Tony could feel sweat drying on his skin, his heart erratically beating. He sucked air into his lungs slowly and tried to calm his mind, to banish the adrenaline coursing through his body. Loki's hand moved slowly through his hair, the dark locks matted with sleep and sweat. He sighed and closed his eyes, placing a hand on the other man's ribs and persuading himself to fall asleep once more.

* * *

Loki didn't like to relive the months he was away from home. After falling into that black pit of the universe, he'd been through what humans only wish the word Hell fully described. No written word could encompass the tortures he'd experienced, how he'd been broken and remade, his mind twisted until even Thor's breathing somehow seemed insulting. Many nights, in dark silence, he heard his own screams, the memories of the pains inflicted upon him rising to attack his subconscious. He flailed and fought, trying to find a way out and beg for mercy.

And in these night terrors he heard a voice, shouting for him, telling him to wake up. It was Stark. It was always Stark, hands gripping his shoulders or arms or wrists glowing green with magic that he almost destroyed the roof with. The bright glowing blue of the reactor would blind him, and with the harsh headlight of his reality Loki could calm himself, the enchanted fire fading from his fingertips as Tony would move closer and pull him against his chest, always careful not to touch him with the cold metal in his skin, but Loki would remedy that anyway. He didn't cry (he was too proud), but he needed the other man's touch now. He refused to close his eyes again, afraid to see those horrid, gleaming mouths drooling with his blood. His vision was filled with bright blue, pulsating with the beating of his heart.

Tony's hand was rubbing slow, soothing circles between his shoulders. No words were spoken; no words were needed. Just that extreme warmth, the feeling of itchy calluses on his skin and the prickly stubble against his temple.


	8. 240

**FrostIron Headcanon #240: The first time Tony tells Loki about his time in the cave where he built the first Iron Man suit, Loki ends up telling Tony about Gerriod locking him in a box for three months.**

**This was a fun one, I have to admit, because before this headcanon I had no idea who Gerriod was. It's always fun learning new myths. Also, I'm sure that this headcanon was intended to be sweet and fluffy, but I can't imagine Tony ever being able to take a single Norse myth seriously, no matter how much the Gods tell him. ((Also, this is a bit of a rushed chapter, so I apologize for any typos; I will fix those when I can))**

* * *

"I didn't really know what to think." he said, looking down to glance at the pale face lying on his knee. Tony and Loki were sitting on the floor before his fireplace, the usually untouched hearth burning with a red-orange fire that the God would occasionally play with, waving his hand and forming the fire into different shapes, sometimes people, other times more horrific creatures. "I mean, I was going to die in a few days, and all my captors cared about was making me build the Jericho."

"The missile?" Loki asked, making sure he was understanding the details. Tony nodded, running his fingers through Loki's hair once more. Still unaccustomed to more human habits, Loki hadn't washed his hair the night before, giving it a slightly oily feel, like cat fur. It was soft, and only invited petting. Loki himself didn't seem to mind this.

"Yeah. The missile. Anyway, Yensin"—he coughed to cover up the hitch in his voice—"he helped me escape. I built the reactor—the one downstairs, the prototype—and the first suit, and I escaped."

"And Yensin?" he asked. Tony didn't answer for a long time, prompting Loki to look up at him. His brow creased as he read the expression on the other man's face, and turned away when realization hit. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ask such a question." He seemed a bit disappointed when Tony didn't speak, but his hand never stopped stroking through his hair. The silence between them was tense, but while Tony thought desperately of something to break the silence, Loki spoke instead. "I was once captured by a Jotun." he said. "It wasn't the Frost Giants, but the Mountain breed; his name was Gerriod. I was flying, having taken the form of a falcon. He captured me one day, and he trapped me in a box."

Loki shivered, almost like he was convulsing from a seizure, and Tony pulled him up and held him close. Loki wiggled himself until he was sitting up comfortably, resting his head on Tony's shoulder. Tony looked at his face, not surprised to see his eyes unfocussed, seeing things that had happened probably way before his own lifetime.

"He locked me in that chest for three months. He refused to feed me until I promised him that I would lead Thor to him, without his hammer, without his armor."

"That would have killed him." Tony said. Loki averted his eyes.

"I'm aware." He was silent for a moment longer, probably waiting for scalding words for his actions. Tony said nothing, only squeezed his shoulder as a sign he should go on. Loki swallowed and continued. "It wasn't easy, as I'm sure you can imagine, but I managed it. Somehow he had met with another goddess, a woman by the name of Grid. She gave him armor and a weapon without my knowledge and allowed me to lead him to Gerriod. We had to cross a river, which kept rising and trying to drown us. Eventually Thor discovered that Gerriod's daughter was causing it, and he threw a stone at her."

"Wait. Thor threw a rock at a girl?" Tony laughed. Loki paused with a rather judgmental expression across his face as the man bent himself in half. The image of Thor throwing a rock at a young girl was just _too damn funny._ And Loki's correction that she was about three times Thor's size and not at all as small as he probably thought was not helping his case.

"Eventually," Loki began once again when Tony had finished his giggling fit—also refusing to let the man touch him, "we reached the Jotun's house. Inside was only one room with a single chair. Thor, of course, sat in it. It began to rise—Stark, you will keep your mouth shut until I am finished with this story—and for a moment I thought that he was going to be crushed. But Thor used the staff Grid had lent him and instead broke the ceiling. Gerriod's other daughters fell and died."

"Well, that's a bit too much."

"He locked me in a box and nearly starved me to death. I don't care." Loki snapped. "Gerriod was enraged when he found his daughters like this, and he began to fling molten iron at Thor."

"Where the hell were you?"

"How many times must I remind you _I was starved near to death_; I didn't have the energy to fight. Besides, it didn't matter whether or not I was able to help him. Thor was able to catch the iron easily, using Grid's gauntlets, and he, well, he threw it right back at him. Gerriod tried to hide from it, but he died." Loki, finished with his tale, fell silent. Tony looked at him expectantly, but there was nothing more to tell.

"…And that's the end of your story?" Tony asked, mouth quivering with held back laughter. Loki rolled his eyes and huffed, sitting back and away from him.

"I'm done with you." he said, standing. "I try opening up to you—that experience was traumatizing, I'll have you know—and you throw it back into my face. I can't believe you."

"Wait, wait, Loki—!"

"I shouldn't even bother." Loki shut the bedroom door behind him, ignoring his pleas as he collapsed onto the bed and pretended Tony wasn't begging to be let back in.


End file.
